


Talk To Me

by Sonamae



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Just a tiny drop at the end, M/M, Miscommunication, Other, Robot Hell, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sticky, but not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3094340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonamae/pseuds/Sonamae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tailgate goes from being Cyclonus' best friend to his berth buddy.  Then to his "berth" buddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shin. A collective of some of our favorite headcanons, which were originally going to be a bunch of shorts, but turned into a fic. If you see anything that needs fixing just let me know.

Sometimes Cyclonus had nightmares, the kind of which left him bolt upright and screaming. Tailgate had been surprised by them, and their neighbors had thought that instead of suffering from night terrors, Cyclonus must have been hurting Tailgate. To his chagrin, Tailgate repeatedly had to reassure them that he _really_ hadn’t been in danger at any point. He’d quickly learned how to calm the other bot down so he didn’t face their questions or Cyclonus’ panicked thrashing. 

So far the best way had been to sleep next to Cyclonus at night, and when he woke up ready to scream Tailgate would just grab his hand and start humming.

The longer he did it, the more chances that the humming would turn into singing. The longer Tailgate sang, the higher the chance of him getting to be the little spoon when Cyclonus finally fell asleep. 

After all, nothing was as sweet as a sleepy Cyclonus, and that was one of the greatest secrets Tailgate would ever keep.

The bigger mech always woke before Tailgate if they were working, often to Tailgate’s disappointment. Cyclonus would crawl out of berth before they could wake together and could be caught in a compromising position, but Tailgate _knew_ they spooned. The dents in the berth cover were proof enough that Cyclonus curled closer at the very _least._

In fact, one time Tailgate was at half recharge when he felt what he assumed was Cyclonus kissing the back of his helm in his sleep. When he woke up, Cyclonus was gone, but Tailgate still felt the phantom press of his lips.

Things worked the way they worked with the two of them, as odd as that seemed. 

Cyclonus would have bad dreams and Tailgate was the one who would fix them, no questions asked. Tailgate kept him from screaming, sang him sweet songs he remembered, even held his hand throughout the night. That was just the natural order of things.

But then Tailgate had his first real nightmare and woke up in a cold sweat trying to thrash around. He couldn’t get far despite himself though, because Cyclonus had him wrapped up in a tight hug. The warm breath on his helm as Cyclonus whispered and pleaded was calming.

“I don’t know what to do.” Cyclonus repeated.

When Tailgate was able to breathe he reached out and gripped Cyclonus’ hand in his own as tight as he could. The terror of his dream was still fresh, and every time he closed his optics he was reliving it.

“Sing for me.” It was the only thing Tailgate could think of. When he looked up Cyclonus had a gentle smile on his face. The larger mech was a master vocalist, despite what anyone said, and it made Tailgate close his optics to nothingness when he heard him sing. He fell asleep wrapped up in warmth, but woke up without Cyclonus there.

It wasn’t a surprise. He really wasn’t upset. 

After all, he barely got Cyclonus to recharge in the same berth as him, let alone sing for him. The fact the Jet maintained a morning solitude seemed a small price to pay.

\--

Tailgate woke with a scream and tried to sit up and scramble away, but there was a heavy arm holding him steady and a deep voice by his helm. The arm wasn’t a restraint, it was just something gentle and reassuring. He eased when he looked up through his fearful tears to see Cyclonus leaning over him. One of his claws lifted and brushed against Tailgate’s cheek.

“Another nightmare?” He asked. Tailgate nodded and shut his optics before reaching up to hug his friends arm close to his chest. “Everything will be alright, I’m right here.” Cyclonus whispered. Tailgate hummed and let himself drift back to sleep. The dream seemed distant with how close Cyclonus kept him.

\--

The bar would always be Tailgate’s favorite place to hang out after a long day on shift. All his friends could be found there after all, so why not enjoy them _and_ their company. He might get the occasional odd look whenever he ditched them to go check on Cyclonus, but he didn’t really care.

Cyclonus was his _best_ friend, his berth buddy. They didn’t share the same space for nothing, they were close. And anyways, his other friends always got over his absence by the time he got back. Sometimes he just wanted to spend time with Cyclonus.

Tonight his big scary partner in crime was late to the bar, and Tailgate normally wouldn’t care... not yet at least. They didn’t have to share the same schedule, but he was a little on edge the later it got without the sight of purple plating and sharp jutting horns. 

Skids, apparently reading the room and Tailgate’s discomfort, nudged him into playing a game of balloon tag to occupy his processor. By the time Cyclonus had arrived most people were covered in what looked like either energon or paint. It was almost as if a small war had erupted in the room. The only casualties being Swerve’s barstools.

The bigger mech stood in the doorway looking horrified, his optics scanning the bar until they landed on Tailgate. He was mid-laugh when Cyclonus came in, but as soon as he felt eyes on him he turned and saw the panic on his friends face. Tailgate quickly dropped the balloon in his hand and ran over, quietly reassuring Cyclonus that he didn’t need to stay if this would make him uncomfortable.

So Cyclonus didn’t stay, in fact as soon as Tailgate assured him he’d be fine his friend had darted away and out of sight. He’d more than likely be hiding out in their room until Tailgate decided it was time for recharge. That was more than alright, as long as Cyclonus was okay, _Tailgate_ was okay. Berth buddies all the way.

\--

The first time Tailgate saw Cyclonus’ spike had been _completely_ by _accident_. They’d been given some proper downtime for once and had both decided to relax and read something together. After a while Cyclonus had gotten up and mumbled something that Tailgate hadn’t paid attention to, and then disappeared into the wash rack. Tailgate had gotten up later on and went to empty his tank, only to find the door ajar.

He’d not _meant_ to peer inside, but when he had he caught sight of Cyclonus showering with the glass screen _wide open_. Tailgate’s valve had throbbed beneath his plating and he’d almost made a noise that would have given him away. 

He couldn’t stick around, but instead of fleeing their habsuite he’d simply hurried back to the berth and pulled the berth covers over his head. Tailgate found that even with his visor off, he’d imprinted the image of Cyclonus’ spike into his mind. How could he do that to his _friend_? His berth buddy!

That was a gross violation of their trust. … But _by Primus_ , how did Cyclonus _walk_ with that thing between his legs? Tailgate wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen one that… _curved_ before. Or that thick at the base. Or that long… Primus that _length_. Cyclonus wasn’t even that large, but for someone of Tailgate’s size?

His valve throbbed again and transfluid dripped against his array. Tailgate had to cover his face further so he wouldn’t be seen in his embarrassment. Primus he was the _worst_ best friend ever, he needed to find a private place to overload, _stat._

\--

One day, ‘Monsters’ broke out of the lab in the form of tiny nanites that crawled into everybot’s processor in their sleep. Tailgate blamed Brainstorm, of course. 

Apparently they didn’t effect you if you were shorter than a certain height, the sizeist afthole, but because it didn’t affect the shorter bots on board…

Well, the bots infected became very violent toward the minis, either out of spite or anger. Tailgate still didn’t really know which.

Swerve and Tailgate had taken to hiding behind the bar since Swerve found out the nanites didn’t do well with specific types of energon close by. 

A few of the taller mechs were able to fight off the influence, but most of those who were immune or unaffected had been quarantined so Preceptor and Highbrow could find a cure.

Of the few who were unaffected, Cyclonus was amongst them. He’d never outright _said_ ‘I’ll protect you,’ but he’d been guarding the bar for at least… what, an orbital cycle? Tailgate thought it was sweet, Swerve was convinced it was just for the inevitable free drinks. Regardless, they stayed holed up in the bar while the rest of the ship descended into chaos.

They’d attempted to pass the time by playing holo-board games, but eventually places to hide had been dwindled down by those who were infected. There was now a hoard of angry, nanite-infested mechs outside the bar and Cyclonus was starting to sound like he’d break every bot if they didn’t stop banging on the door.

“All you have to do is open the door and let me out. I can easily handle this.” Cyclonus grumbled as the sounds of mechs shouting made Tailgate tremble.

“I don’t want you going out there! What if they hurt you?” Tailgate whispered as he peered over the counter.

“Yeah, then who would protect us?” Swerve muttered jovially.

“Hey, I could protect you.” Tailgate offered, nudging Swerve in the side. His friend smirked, but then shook his head when a loud bang came from the other side of the door.

“Nah, you’re pretty awesome but I’ll let your conjux endura protect us.” Swerve yelped when a gunshot got through the crack in the door. Tailgate ducked with him and put a hand over Swerve’s helm. When the ringing in his audials stopped, he squinted at Swerve.

“But we aren’t conjux endura.” Tailgate whispered as he leaned in close. The other bot snorted and rolled his optics. Cyclonus shouted something extremely rude at the bots trying to break into the room, and Tailgate rolled the lights in his visor. “We’re _not_! We’re not even dating.” Swerve just scoffed again and grabbed his gun from beneath the counter.

“Well then, you better tell your not-bot to move.” Swerve loaded up the gun and Tailgate threw himself on top of the bar.

“Cyclonus move, Swerve’s going to try shooting things!” And Cyclonus did move. When the gun went off he looked back at Tailgate and had a flash of relief. Tailgate felt his fans spin to life heavily and was glad for the sounds of battle. This was so embarrassing.

From out in the hall there was a deafening sound, metal tearing away at metal. A hand reached through the door and grabbed Cyclonus by the shoulder and yanked. He fell backwards into the smoke of the sudden gunfire. 

That natural, comforting blue hue of the world turned a violent red through Tailgate’s visor.

“Cyclonus!” Tailgate scrambled over the bar. Even though he could hear his friend screaming and calling his name he ignored it. He grabbed one of the glasses on a table nearby and threw it at the nearest mech. He could hear Cyclonus screaming, but he couldn’t tell if it was in pain or if it was in rage. His peds carried him across the room and Swerve’s gun shot one of the mechs as they tried climbing over Cyclonus’ torso.

“Are you fragging stupid?” Swerve shouted as Tailgate reached out and snatched at the metal of Cyclonus’ leg. He got a hold on him eventually and yanked, pulling him in slowly as he thrashed against the hoard of screaming infected. Tailgate wouldn’t let them hurt Cyclonus, not now and not ever!

A gunshot went off and Tailgate screamed as it nearly ripped his shoulder off. The blaster had hit him right in the seam and torn through. All that pain was rolling up his receptors so fast that he had to fight not to offline, but his servo’s still clenched around Cyclonus. He wouldn’t let go even if he lost his visual for a few flickering seconds.

Frag, it must have struck a nerve cluster to hurt this bad.

Another gunshot went off and there was a high pitched scream. Tailgate assumed it was his own, but he hoped there was a slim chance it might have been Swerve screaming a battle cry. Even though he saw energon spew from one of the pipes in his arm, he liked to imagine Swerve as a shrill screecher.

If he survived this he was going to smack Cyclonus _so_ hard.

“Tailgate!” Cyclonus sounded scared as he fought off a few mechs. He wrapped himself around Tailgate before something hit them both.

A heavy wave like an E.M.P. threw them both to the ground, and Tailgate felt sick. He had just enough time to wrap his servo’s around Cyclonus’ neck before the pain became too much and he slipped into unconsciousness.

\--

Tailgate woke up in the medbay and could barely stand the light. Even though he was expecting quiet, it was pretty noisy. Turned out Ratchet was busy explaining something to… was that Cyclonus? Tailgate assumed it was because who else was tall and that shade of purple? 

“Now, I just want to make sure you understand every bit of this. This isn’t something I would do under normal circumstances, seeing how he’s so heavily sedated, but this is rather pressing. Are you positive you want to consent to this? I mean… nothing against you, Cyclonus, I just never figured you the type.” Ratchet muttered as he pulled something off one of the tables.

Tailgate frowned behind his mask and tried to focus on what Cyclonus was responding with. There was a bit of hand waving and a shrug. Tailgate tried not to groan, he couldn’t lift his right arm. His left arm felt weightless when he tried to pull it up.

“Tailgate?” Cyclonus was suddenly by his side, servo’s cupped around Tailgate’s hand. “Stay awake, just for a little while.” He squeezed the smaller mechs servo and leaned in, helm resting against his hip. “Just… stay awake for me.” There was something sticky and sweet about the way the other bot said it, and it made Tailgate’s fans whirr helplessly. He tried sitting up again to tell him that he was alright and that he didn’t need to hover like that, but for some reason he couldn’t move.

He turned off his visor lights with a sigh and squeezed Cyclonus’ hand, just a little reassurance. For some reason his internal clock blinked out, and when he forced a system reboot there were shouts all around him. 

That wasn’t right.

When he opened his optics again everything was blurry and his sensors were numb. 

That _really_ wasn’t right.

“You let me in there or I’ll rip _your_ arm out of your socket!” Cyclonus bellowed, but it sounded as if he was underwater. “Tailgate! Tailgate I’m right here, stay with me!” There was a heavy clash of metal, some kind of fight was breaking out.

“His spark is flickering again, check the readouts. And someone get Cyclonus off of First Aid! I need help in here!” Ratchet was closer and yelling over the waves of metal clashing. “Tailgate? Tailgate I need you to listen to my voice.” He waited, but Ratchet never finished.

The room went dark again and something warm rested against his side.

“Don’t leave me alone.” Cyclonus’ voice was there again, like a furnace against his nerves. It almost hurt how worried it sounded, but Tailgate could bare it. The hurt was one of those that he’d grown used to, like jamming a pipe when you traded them out during routine maintenance.

Scrap, he probably should have told Ratchet he was used to doing his own check ups. He’d check it all when the medic was finished. Besides, it wasn’t like a blasted off arm would kill him…

Would it?

Nah, he’d be fine.

\--

He totally wasn’t fine. Frag.

It took Tailgate _way_ too long to wake up that last time, and when he did he noted that now all his nerves were on fire. Sort of. Everything on him hurt, and when he cried out Cyclonus was there, still plugged in to a recharge station on the wall next to the medbay berth. The obnoxious beeping in the room did little to make Tailgate feel better, but he couldn’t vocalize his discomfort yet.

Well, no, that was a lie. He _could_ vocalize it, but only in the form of screaming and moaning. No one but Cyclonus got near enough to him to do anything, but Tailgate didn’t really care. When the pain cooled off and he could string a sentence together, all he could really muster was-

“Cyclonus I think I broke your finger.” 

And that made Cyclonus laugh. An actual laugh. For anyone else, they would have slagged themselves, but for Tailgate… it was wonderful.

“You go into spark-shock and the first thing you worry about when you wake up is that you might have broken my finger? I swear to Primus.” Cyclonus sighed and closed both his optics as he pulled Tailgate’s servo to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the back of Tailgate’s palm and let out the deepest sigh the mini-bot had ever heard in his entire life.

“Oh man, I definitely broke your finger, I’m looking at it right now. See that, how did that not hurt? I cracked it right in half!” Tailgate puttered on until he had to rev his fans just to cool his chassi. When was the last time his vents were even open?

“Easy, I’m fine. How are you feeling?” Cyclonus asked, keeping Tailgate’s hand by his faceplate. The relaxed delight was gone from his voice, and now he was back to the warm stubborn drawl Tailgate had grown so fond of.

“Sore… what the valve fragging scrap happened?” Tailgate muttered.

“Watch your mouth.”

“I mean, one minute I’m saving you from getting mauled by rabbid robo-runners, and the next thing I know I got shot… now I’m waking up really sore from spark-shock?” Tailgate squinted at Cyclonus as his friend reached for a cup of energon. “Did I do something really embarrassing like fall off the medbay in my sleep and land on a power drill?” Cyclonus rolled his optics and held out the straw for Tailgate.

He reached up and tapped the panel on the side of Tailgate’s face and his mask came down. It creaked heavily and Tailgate cringed, he’d have to add that to the list of stuff he needed to get fixed. 

Why was he so _old_ all of a sudden?

… Oh right, the four million year in a hole thing.

“Ratchet had to replace one of your rotary cuffs, but because your model is…” Cyclonus frowned, “ _outdated_ , we had trouble finding the right part. While we waited Ratchet used a replacement, simple medical grade, standard issue.” Tailgate nodded and forced himself to sit up. “Turns out your metal is so old that it couldn’t handle the strain of new products, so it rejected it. You got a very extensive rust infection.”

“Oh eww! Eww eww eww!” Tailgate squirmed and then groaned, servo shooting up to press against his right shoulder.

“Yes, that was Swerve’s reaction when he came in to visit you and saw the rust spreading. I nearly took his head off for the way he was talking.” Cyclonus looked away and Tailgate couldn’t tell if he was joking or being serious.

He slipped his hand out of Cyclonus’ long enough to hold the cup steady as he drank the rest of the energon. He might have been a little unsteady, but he was still pretty darn good compared to how he could have been. 

When he finished with the cup, Cyclonus took it out of his hands and went right back to holding him, fingers stroking against the inside of Tailgate’s thumb.

There was a strange pattern to it. Left, right in the middle, up, left, then a full circle before Cyclonus started over. His pinkie was tapping against Tailgate’s at each restart as well, and it took him a moment to realize what Cyclonus was doing.

Tailgate swallowed. “Cy?”

“It’s Cyclonus.”

“You’re chirolingual aren’t you, or you know it?” Tailgate asked. Cyclonus just shrugged.

“Yes, I know it.” He never stopped moving his fingers.

“I uh… I’m not? Mind telling me what that means?” Tailgate used his free hand to point at their joined servos. Cyclonus shook his head no. Nothing happened. “No as in you don’t mind telling me, or no as in you’re not going to tell me?”

Cyclonus let his hand go and stood up. “I’ll go tell Ratchet you’re awake.” Tailgate would swear there was a smirk there, hidden beneath all that grumpy purple paint.

He’d find out eventually.

\--

Berth rest. 

Tailgate had been assigned to fragging _berth rest_ while everyone else got to get up and _do_ stuff. _Again_. His only solace were the visitors he got, which weren’t that many, but still pretty awesome.

Ratchet visited, though it didn’t really count seeing as it was always accompanied by First Aid and a ‘So how are you feeling today.’

Cyclonus visited. Though if by visited it meant he was there every day once a day like clockwork, then yeah he did that. Tailgate was pretty sure the only reason he even left was because Ratchet threatened to remove parts of him for scrap if he didn’t stop hovering. And while it was true his friend was ever present, it had also become one of the things Tailgate looked forward to most during the day.

Not the Ratchet threats.

The seeing Cyclonus.

That was what he looked forward to. 

Cyclonus would sit on a chair or stool and hold one of Tailgate’s hands while they sang together, and every day he’d say something different with his fingers. It always ended the same though, and it was getting frustrating. Tailgate would have looked it up, but whenever he tried to get out of bed Ratchet was suddenly _there_ and looming aggressively.

Doctors were still scary, no one could convince him otherwise.

On a rare, and very odd occasion, Whirl would visit whenever Cyclonus left. He didn’t do it a lot, and he just rambled and kept asking if Tailgate was paying attention, which he always was. Whirl seemed to like that. One time he said he’d keep an optic out for the slagger who shot him, then made it into a self-deprecating joke about only being an optic for a head. Ratchet had shooed him out and called Rung. Whirl came back the next day with a half hearted apology.

Then there were _Swerve’s_ visits. Swerve who gave him all the gossip he could ever hope for and free energon pretzels. Tailgate could talk and blather on about his crush and not feel bad in front of Swerve, and he adored it. His friend was a blabber mouth sure, but he was a _loyal_ blabber mouth. And yeah, Swerve would tease him about it, but Tailgate really didn’t mind. It made him feel _normal_ to have someone his own size be near him now that… now that they were the only two mini-bots left on the Lost Light.

Tailgate shook his head and turned back to Swerve, smiling as his friend regaled him about news at the bar. Huffer had been asking about him, Trailcutter too, and that made Tailgate chuckle. Seemed that even though no one wanted to visit him, they sure did want to ask about him.

Tailgate would spend hours dishing gossip with Swerve until Cyclonus got there, and then his friend would hush and skitter away while trying to keep in his laughter. Tailgate would miss him for about half a second before Cyclonus would sit down.

\--

“What do you mean he needs physical therapy?” Cyclonus asked, voice low and angry as Ratchet glared at him back with just as much ferocity. Tailgate made a note to never let them fight _ever._

“I mean _physical therapy_. You know what it is and it isn’t your call if he needs it or not. I’m his doctor.” Ratchet said, voice cutting through the air like the scalpels he was so well versed with. Tailgate tried not to laugh as he hopped off the berth and stretched his arms over his head. His healing one pulled a little tighter than normal and Ratchet smacked him with a pen. “Don’t do that.” Cyclonus growled.

“Hush Cyclonus I’m fine, and sorry Ratchet.” Tailgate said as he rolled his eyes. “I trust him, he’s a great doctor.” Tailgate kept his voice as chipper as he could given the tension pouring out of Cyclonus’ EM field.

“Doesn’t mean he’s right.” Cyclonus muttered.

“Excuse you?” Ratchet put his data pad down and Tailgate whistled before grabbing Cyclonus’ hand. “Say that again?”

“Wow would you _look_ at the time, I better get to that physical therapy appointment. Cyclonus you don’t want me walking there by myself do you?” Tailgate asked as he gave his friend a little tug.

Cyclonus was on his feet and huddled next to Tailgate before he could blink. As they left, Tailgate swore he heard First Aid mutter ‘Such a conjux couple.’ His face plates flushed and he tried not to let his fans kick up.

\--

Physical therapy sucked. Sunstreaker was strict, but at least Bob was nice to cuddle afterwards. Cyclonus made sure to glare extra hard when Sunstreaker raised his voice too high.

\--

When Rewind came back to life or whatever, Tailgate cried for what felt like an entire day. Chromedome hardly let him out of his sight, but when he did Rewind had taken to nestling himself between Tailgate and Swerve, holding their hands tight as if they‘d blow away at any second. Cyclonus didn’t comment on the time apart they spent the first week, but by the second Tailgate could tell he was anxious to have his friend alone for more than the few short hours they shared in their berth.

He’d fix that when he was sure he wasn’t dreaming. When he was sure his friend was _alive_ , that he and Swerve weren’t just dreaming it up. Rewind assured him they’d have plenty of time to catch up, and urged Tailgate to be with Cyclonus _now._

“You never know when someone you love will be ripped away from you.” Rewind muttered, visor glassed over as he looked over at Chromedome. Swerve nodded and reached out to squeeze Rewind’s hand.

Tailgate couldn’t argue that he wasn’t in love with Cyclonus anymore, not in front of Rewind.

\--

“What are you doing?” Cyclonus came into the room with a towel around his neck and Tailgate looked up from his data pad in confusion.

“Reading, duh. What are _you_ doing, since we’re asking obvious questions.” Tailgate teased. Cyclonus didn’t answer him, just pointed at his position on the berth. Tailgate had his peds propped up against the headboard, lying on his back with the data pad above his head. “I maintain that I’m reading.” Tailgate said as he looked back at the pad and flipped to the next screen.

Above him, Cyclonus sighed and knelt by the berth, one hand reaching out to take Tailgate’s. His fingers started that strange pattern and Tailgate smiled sweetly.

“Weren’t you going to shower?” Tailgate asked. Cyclonus just hummed and looked up at the pages. For a while he was silent, then he coughed.

“What’s the book about?” he asked, lip plates dangerously close to Tailgate’s audials. It made Tailgate tremble happily before he started explaining.

\--

Tailgate dreamed about crawling into the berth that night and kissing Cyclonus until the morning work bell rang. When he woke up he had a pillow cradled to his chest and a cold berth beneath him. The berth was never this cold. 

Cyclonus had been gone for a while. Somehow that knowledge felt wrong on so many levels. Tailgate had gone to work in the worst kind of daze, and when he got to the bar Cyclonus was still nowhere to be seen. A cold lump of steel crumpled in his gut and before he could help himself he’d started crying.

Rewind had ushered him out of the bar and hugged him, never asking why he might be tearful. Tailgate wasn’t even sure he’d have an answer if he was asked, but he knew the hug helped tremendously. He didn’t even know if he’d be able to go back to his room and face Cyclonus right now. Or ever. The thought of being close to him and not being able to touch him like he did in his dreams…

Primus, did he feel like a right amount of slag out of nowhere.

“Do you want to get drunk and play the alt mode game?” Rewind eventually asked him, hand still petting Tailgate’s helm. He nodded slowly and they went back into the bar. 

Thankfully no one said anything about his crying spell. 

When he finally stumbled into his shared habsuite, Cyclonus was sitting on the berth reading a data pad. He hummed in question as Tailgate huffed at him. He climbed onto the berth and flopping onto the spot next to Cyclonus that he knew was his own.

“You smell like stale mid-grade.” Cyclonus muttered, even as he wrapped an arm around Tailgate’s body to pull him closer. His hand found Tailgate’s instantly and Tailgate couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That’s because I went _drinking_.” He said, then felt that tapping against his fingers. With a huff, Tailgate focused on the pattern and thought it over. After a long pause, he repeated the last sequence with his own fingers against Cyclonus’ and felt the larger bot skip an intake.

Whatever he’d said, it had obviously the right thing to say, because Cyclonus leaned over and kissed the top of Tailgate’s helm. “About time.” The larger bot muttered before he went back to his book.

\--

“Do you know anyone who is chirolingual on this ship?” Tailgate asked Swerve the next night at the bar. Cyclonus had a rough day and had went to the berth early, so Tailgate was going to do some serious research with the extra time apart. Swerve hummed and put his elbows on the bar, finger tapping at his cheek as he thought it over.

“Well, Drift knows it, but he’s off on that weird _thing_. Rodimus might know it but he’ll be bad at it, best to wait for him to get Drift back. I mean he _is_ obviously going to get him back, but I suspect you want immediate results. Uh, Megatron knows it, Ultra Magnus if I’m not mistaken, and…” Swerve paused and Tailgate felt himself shrink.

“Anyone whose hands won’t kill me if they tried to teach me? I‘m still pretty small.” Tailgate muttered.

“Ratchet knows it, I used to see him and Drift do it all the time.” Swerve said finally, pointing at the back corner. “Now, please feel free to leave a tip. My advice is precious and everyone seeks it.” Tailgate scoffed and transferred a single credit to Swerve’s ‘tip jar.’ “Prude.”

Tailgate just laughed and turned toward the corner of the bar. He made his way over to Ratchet and plastered on his sweetest smile behind his mask. Ratchet looked up, seeing him coming and letting out a long sigh.

“I am off duty, no medical questions.” Ratchet said sternly as soon as Tailgate was close.

“Uhh, okay, non-medical question. Are you chirolingual?” He asked without a hitch. Ratchet blinked at him in surprise, then picked up his mug and took a long swig before setting it back on the table.

“Yes, why do you want to know?” Ratchet’s voice was heavy with hesitation. Tailgate held out his hands with a smile.

“Could you translate something for me?” He asked, playing back every little tick and flick Cyclonus had ever played out over his fingers. Ratchet shrugged and held his own servos out, interlocking them with Tailgate’s as he watched the smaller mech copy the moves Cyclonus made so often. When he finished Ratchet was looking at him oddly.

“Where did you learn this?” He asked, pulling his fingers away. Tailgate just shrugged, not wanting to admit anything in case it was rude. “Well uh… it’s a rather intimate translation, it’s also a loose one mind you. Spoken language just doesn’t express the same way as actually being Chirolingual does.” Tailgate nodded and bounced on his peds.

“I get that, but what does it _mean_?” he urged. Ratchet sighed and demonstrated on his own hand.

“‘I fall in love with you every day’ is what I think the first part means, these are your generic endearments, this is adoration, this one is longing for physical contact, and this one is a simple ‘I love you.’” Ratchet put his hands down and turned back to his drink. “You’re welcome, now let me drink in peace.” Tailgate stood there for a few minutes and finally covered his face. After a long ex-vent he dragged his hands down his cheeks before heading back to the bar.

\--

“Hey, wake up.” Tailgate got on the berth and poked Cyclonus in the side, stirring him out of recharge. Cyclonus rolled onto his back and grunted in response. “Hey you, I _love_ you.” He said when Cyclonus finally trained his eyes on him in the dark.

“Mmm, so you told me yesterday.” Cyclonus’ voice sounded husky and Tailgate tried not to squirm. “Why did you wake me? I told you I was going to recharge for a reason.” He still made room for Tailgate to nestle close to him, his arm protectively held against Tailgate’s back. Tailgate waited before retracting his facemask and leaning up to kiss Cyclonus’ chin, his other hand finding the large mechs so he could drag it to his hip. Cyclonus hummed and leaned down, kissing Tailgate slowly before he squeezed his hip.

“That, while pleasant, is not an answer.” Cyclonus eventually muttered against Tailgate’s lips. Instead of responding, Tailgate tugged Cyclonus’ hand further down until it was resting on his interface panel. He thought of the time he’d seen Cyclonus naked in the shower and felt himself tremble. 

He was already dripping, how much more embarrassment could he take?

“Please?” Tailgate asked, voice barely a whisper. There was a low rumble before Cyclonus squeezed the outside of Tailgate’s panel and then manually opened it. Tailgate squeaked in shock at the sudden feel of Cyclonus’ fingers against his valve lips. 

Yeah, he wasn’t sleeping tonight.

“I love you too.” Cyclonus whispered against the top of Tailgate’s helm before rubbing a finger against the folds. Tailgate whimpered and opened his legs.

“I’m glad one of us knows what to do.” He said before moaning as Cyclonus pressed a finger against the rim of his valve.


End file.
